The Tightest Grip
by Troublemaker-In-Chief
Summary: Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban and is hiding out around Hogwarts. He knows its a bad idea to try to see his godson, but he's never been one to resist temptation. Some angst/some sappy affection, and maybe an eventual but good natured kidnapping.


_Have you ever loved someone so much, you'd give an arm for?_  
_ Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for?_  
_ When you know they're your heart_?  
_ And you know you are their armor?_  
_ And you will destroy anyone who would try to harm him?_  
_ But what happens when karma, turns right around and bites you?_  
_ And everything you stand for, turns on you to spite you?_

I could have been caught. I could have been thrown back in Azkaban. It was a stupid, reckless thing to do. I stood in the shadowy doorway of the hospital wing for nearly twenty minutes after Madam Pomfrey went to sleep, arguing with myself, trying to decide if it was worth the risk. In the end, I realized, _Of course it's worth the risk. He's my godson._ So I stepped out of the shadows and crept across the room toward the bed where my sleeping godson lay.

Come on, what would you have done? I'm willing to bet you'd have done the same thing in my position. But then again, I don't think there's a single person in this world who has ever been in my position. I have to be the only man in the world who can say he's escaped the fortress of Azkaban prison after twelve long years of being imprisoned there for a crime he didn't commit, and then discovered that the Ministry has sent dementors to guard Hogwarts so he couldn't get in.

_Dementors! At Hogwarts, _Sirius thought incredulously. _Never thought I'd see the day...and its a bit depressing that the dementors are here because of me. This used to be my home, and now I'm not allowed inside. And to make me feel guilty, none of these kids can walk out the castle doors without having to pass the dementors, because of me. They all have to suffer the effects of the dementors, just because of me. My own godson has to suffer the effects of those dementors, because of me...he almost died because of the dementors today, because of me..._

The crazy, reckless urge to want to see my godson overcame me at the Quidditch match earlier that day. I'd been watching from high up in the stands, in my animagus form of a dog, hoping nobody looked up and saw me and realized how odd it was for a dog to be at a Hogwartchs Quidditch match. I probably should have stayed away in case Remus, my old friend who was now the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, was at the match and recognized me, but I couldn't help myself. I hadn't seen my godson in twelve terribly long years, and I've never been one to resist temptation.

I couldn't even see what Harry looked like from where I sat in the stands. There were dozens of heads in front of me, partially blocking my view of the Quidditch pitch, and then to make matters worse there was a heavy, constant downpour the entire time, making it hard to see ten feet in front of me. So you could imagine how difficult it was for me to see my godson who was a hundred feet away. And to top it all off, Harry had the hood of his Quidditch robes pulled up over his head, so even if it wasn't raining, I still wouldn't have been able to see his face.

It was like some omnipresent, all-knowing power didn't want me to see him and was doing everything in its power to make sure I couldn't.

But still, I didn't leave. Harry was just a red and gold blur flying around the Quidditch pitch, obscured by the rain. I couldn't see what he looked like, couldn't see much of anything, really. But I just wanted to be there, to see if he flied like his father did. And turns out, he _did_ fly like James. Despite the rain and the heavy wind, he was clearly a natural at flying. It was impressive to see a thirteen year old boy tough it out and keep flying in those horrible weather conditions, and I knew he'd have flown even better if wasn't rainy and windy.

I was transfixed on the blur that was my godson; I watched him intensely, trying not to confuse him with the other red blurs that were his teammates. Every time he dodged a bludger or made a particularly fast turn on his broom, I'd laugh internally and think, _He's the Quidditch star James always wanted him to be..._

But then I suddenly felt it. That terrible, sudden coldness that squeezed your insides with an iron fist and felt like it would never let go. The chill that sunk deep down into your bones and dug up your most horrifying memories. The dementors. They were gliding onto the Quidditch pitch.

People all across the stands were gasping in fear, shivering and looking at each other warily. I felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that the dementors were only there because of me, and just by being there I was making all of the students have to suffer the dementors' effects. Every horrible memory they were forced to relive would be my fault. I looked down at Dumbledore to see how he was taking the sudden appearance of the dementors. Even though the rain was too dense and I could barely make out the features of Dumbledore's face, I knew he was seething with rage.

I didn't even see _it _happen at first. I was too busy looking around the stands, trying to find a way out before the dementors got too close to me; I wasn't even paying attention to the match anymore. But then I heard a terrified gasp chorus through the crowd. I snapped my head toward the pitch in time to see a blur of red and gold falling to the ground...

My stomach did a horrible somersault; my mind was racing: _Who was that? Was that - could that have been - no, it couldn't have been Harry, Harry is a good flier, he wouldn't have fell off his broom, it had to have been another Gryffindor._

I knew it was terrible of me to hope it was another Gryffindor who fell, but I didn't care, as long as it wasn't Harry. But then there was a wave of murmurs and cries and shouts throughout the stands: _"That was Harry Potter!", "_Oh no, _Harry_!", "_Do you think he's alright? - _He must have fallen fifty feet -"

Dumbledore had waved Harry onto a stretcher, the rest of the Gryffindor team ran toward him. Everyone in the stands (with the exception of a few Slytherins) looked scared, but the Gryffindors looked downright terrified. A girl with a wild mane of curly hair and a redheaded boy jumped onto the pitch and ran toward Harry, panic stricken looks on their faces.

I could barely move. I felt numb.

_Harry's okay, _I told myself. _Dumbledore slowed him down before he hit the ground. He might not even be injured..._

But still, I felt like I was going to puke with fear; my legs were shaking so hard. I ran out of there as fast as I possibly could to go vomit up my insides in the forest.

So there I was later on that night, skulking in the hospital wing like some sort of ghost. Harry lay in a bed in the middle of the room, surrounded by mountains of Get Well cards. The corner of my mouth twitched into an almost-smile. He must have a lot of friends. But the amused thoughts vanished almost instantly and were replaced with another emotion. I wasn't sure what I was feeling; the emotion was unidentifiable and I don't know if I've ever felt anything like it before. I was anxious, excited, ecstatic and terrified all at the same time. My knees shook. My hands trembled. I tried not to breathe too much so I could hear the sound of his breathing.

Words couldn't possibly explain everything I felt in that moment as I crept closer and closer to the railed bed where he slept. I felt like I was going to vomit all over again, but out of excitement this time. I hadn't seen my godson's face in twelve years...twelve long years...he was only a baby then, so small I was able to throw him up in the air and catch him, much to Lily's terror and James' amusement. What did Harry look like now? Did he have James' sloped nose, or Lily's button nose? Had his black hair turned red like Lily's, over time? How did his voice sound? Who did he look like more, Lily or James? I'd finally be able to know.

Finally, after more than a decade of lonely, torturous years trapped in a cell with nothing but memories of my old friends (who were the only _true_ family I ever had), I was going to see my godson. The only family I had left.

When I leaned over his bed as quiet as a shadow and looked at him there was an explosion somewhere inside my chest. My heart started pumping, tears stung my eyes; I was locked in a tight grip of the most powerful affection I'd ever felt. The only time in my life I'd ever felt something similar to this was when I held baby Harry for the first time, the day he was born.

He was...beautiful. I'd never thought I'd ever say that about anyone, the word 'beautiful' just seemed too sappy to me. But it was undeniably true. He looked almost exactly like James with just a few differences. There was the subtlest hint of Lily somewhere in his face. His messy, dark hair he'd inherited from James was still damp from the rain and there were smears of dried mud on his neck. There was even a smudge of dirt on the tip of his nose; a button nose that he must have inherited from Lily. He hadn't changed into pajamas or dry clothes; he was wearing the same thing he was earlier, minus the Quidditch robes.

I stood over his bed, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. He seemed a bit peaceful as he slept, but every now and then he'd clench his eyes shut even tighter, like he was flinching. After a while, I worked up the nerve to reach out and touch him. I couldn't take it any longer; I just had to touch him, make sure he was really there, that I wasn't hallucinating. Maybe I was still in my cell in Azkaban and I'd gone so insane I was hallucinating about Harry.

So I reached out and gently touched his face with my trembling, ghostly-white hand. The warmth and softness of his skin sent a surge of overwhelming joy through my body like electricity; tears leaked down my face. I held my breath so that I wouldn't sob audibly as I ran my hand across the side of his face. However, after a moment Harry cringed in his sleep, and I realized how cold my hand must have felt to him. I pulled my hand away immediately.

But even after I took my hand away, Harry didn't return to his peaceful sleep. He cringed again before he started twitching fitfully, his head turning back and forth on the pillow. His fists clenched and unclenched, his breath came in shorter gasps. He was clearly having a nightmare.

I felt terrible. Had I caused this nightmare by touching him? Maybe the coldness of my hand interrupted his calm dreams and made him start having this nightmare. Or maybe the dementors were causing this nightmare. Either way, it was initially my fault. And I couldn't do anything to help him. I couldn't wake him up and comfort him, I couldn't even wake him up at all, because if he woke up and saw _me_, infamous "mass murderer", standing over him...well, things could be disastrous.

I couldn't release him from his nightmares; I was a pretty useless godfather. Maybe he didn't even_ need_ a godfather, maybe he was perfectly happy with his aunt and uncle, maybe they loved him dearly and he loved them back. He probably didn't need me at all.

I watched him twitch and cringe in his sleep, wishing I could do something for him, wishing I wasn't a convict so I could tell Madam Pomfrey he was having a nightmare without her screaming bloody murder, wishing James and Lily had never been killed, wishing Voldemort had never existed in the first place. Just wishing.

Eventually I slipped back out the hospital wing door, transformed into a dog, and started running, hoping my footsteps could drown out the raging madness inside my head. But that was just as unlikely as all of my other wishes. No matter how hard you try, no matter how fast you run, you can't escape your own mind.

Voldemort would be back someday, I knew this for a fact. The dark side was getting stronger again, there were whispers of Voldemort coming up with new plans. The Death Eaters in Azkaban still laughed and shrieked about Voldemort coming back in their sleep. I knew that the first thing Voldemort would do as soon as he returned would be go after Harry. I chuckled darkly inside my head, thinking, _I would love to see that bastard try to get near him. No one will touch a single hair on his head as long as I'm still breathing._


End file.
